This is a poem of 100 poems, written in ten days.
Splinter in the Mind's Eye (Originally Journey to the West)
1.
we quite simply
lost our way, you see. those
only-silhouette figures
(and their slow
their paced movements, like
statues given life, yet still
stiff)
lent neither focus nor direction.
and the path eastward
had never been clearly marked: thus
i think it was
we sought
--and found--
journey's end.
2. separations
voyage of knowledge begun,
we'd found
the maps deceptive, though
quite often we found later
it was somehow our reading
--not the map--at fault.
there were odd and unhinted
detours, and prismed visions (edges fully
as sharp as they seemed), though
i will admit quite oft
the glitter faded a bit
upon close inspection.
3. formed speculations
though there were no
blazoned markers, progress
at first seemed quite certain.
that valley we'd started from
had quickly diminished
in blue-hazed distances.
we'd all envisaged
easier passages,
to be sure.
we made little complaint,
at least at first, being
our own taskmasters.
4.apocalyptic voyages
you must understand
we were callow youths, all
and mostly somewhat spoiled to boot.
our guides
were only sometimes present.
the worst dangers, it seemed
we always faced alone: often,
we even lost each other
though at first only briefly.
certainly
we lost various names, along the way.
5. sudden, flawed regressions
there were at times
sudden visions, too, wheeled
remembrances of what might have been
former lives, though
i don't think they were our own.
they were somehow too foreign, echoed
and lined
within some crafted play
of timely words
and movements, gestures
transficted quite momentarily
to frames' uncertain passage
6.formulated utterances
i was a herald once--a mere
boy, and not well-clad (that part
was simply a myth).
you understand
i was merely a messenger: i was sent,
one day
to the torturer's chambers
i travelled long
in buried passageways: i passed
much treasure (but i dared not tarry
in my quest)
but when i came to the torturers
when i came to those echoing halls
filled with groans and screams
i found somehow i'd become
the message, and delivered
i found true freedom, and
--once they couldn't stop my screaming--
naturally, they gave me (permanent) refuge
in one of their cells
--------------------
7.careful observations
part of the return has, of course,
been loss. that knowledge we pursued
knew nothing of words
and now we know naught else
8. peripheral visions
once when i was a bird
i flew quite high, landscape
re-rendered. i was not hungry
that day
not searching for food: i wheeled
in flight's unbounded
pleasure: i ended roosting for the night
far from any accustomed spot.
it was thus i met her. as a human, now
i know she was a goddess: then
i could neither resist nor understand
her comeliness.
and so i served her. hers
was of course one of those
heaven-bordering mountain domains, with much
celestial traffic. i fluttered
to and fro, my vision hers
as much as my will.
indeed i worshipped her, for most surely
sex, to me, was no part of her allure.
but then as i weakened
she abandoned me
and confused, i forgot
and lost my way, to return
finally
to my favorite spot
and find
but one day passed. i rested,
that night
and then again assayed the journey
skyward, wandering
again toward the cloud-hinted mansions...but then
i saw the goddess
one last time
as her bolts ripped through my wings: i think
my death was quick.
it is noteworthy, though
that my last glimpsed fleeting memories
--after that death--
are of ecstatic joy, and union.
9.systematic continuations
the torturer genuflected
before each execution...bowing as he was
i don't think he could have seen
that crucified figure
turning his head away.
10.landscapes seen through stained glass
there was qutie a rush
to find the town fool that day:
the sage had died.
11. word replacement
the mountains' hilled approaches
were, i think, the hardest.
each stage's assumption
was indeed marked,
if nowhere else upon our brows, though
i'd be hard put to describe it.
i am not sure if mere days passed
or years: certainly
each passage changed us.
12.disputed omens
shipspeck
gray sea horizoned
beneath graylowering sky: we flee
wouldbe with the wind and
circled into storm
dying, embrace the sea
---------------------
13.freudian mysteries
they call her Daphne...it's really
a cruel joke. she was a nymph, and quite happy
as a rose. but that young handsome
god saw her--i forget, just now,
his name--and changed her
into human form. which was fine, while
he remained her lover. but then--
the gods are at best capricious, after all--
he tired of her, and sought other company.
now all she can do is sigh
and miss her thorns.
14.of statistical brassieres
those are foreign forces
and more heavily armored than are we. thus,
our only alternative
is to exercise our
superior moral character and make sure
not to notice them.
that way, they don't exist.
if there are any unseemly occurrences
like gunfire and you find you must die, please be sure
to do it quietly and in an orderly, approved manner.
15.hypothetical questions
“we no longer
fish the sea” the man said. it seemed
almost (though surely i was mistaken, for
he was young, proud and brave)
his voice trembled.
“they have grown voices.”
he fell silent for a moment.
“and they know our names.”
i stood attentive. i was a traveller, i think,
that life. “yes?”
“but don't you understand? they plead for mercy, calling
us by name.”
16.parabolic themes
within these veined silences
in spent passion's lax embrace
you vaguely dream of knowledge unbound,
apart from words. but then, impelled,
you utter endearments
and that momentary, illusive vision
is instantly bound and forgotten
(as your self) in words' return.
17.forelaid visions
after each
possession by vision, we'd return
much like the hawk, though
no time had passed.
still, there was a change: i remember
once asking a villager
where i might get water--he bowed to me,
and ran.
there were no mirrors there...
i wonder, at times
what he might have seen.
18.tangential parallels
i was a workman once
at some farm: the memory
has become dulled somewhat,
i fear: 'knowledge'
is many things, not least
at times
a ravishing of intellect.
but i can remember
endless drudged days
and thoughts i could not word:
they thought me mad, i think
because of that. but one day
the words came
and in their coming gathered
all the people together...i spoke
at great length, that first day
and word of me
spread throughout the land. i became
known as a scholar, and even a leader.
but then vision and words
both failed me again, and they killed me.
it would be easier to remember
the words, that way
they said
19. viable tales
i was a seamstress once
--an indentured slave, i remember
that whelming grief
when they took my child--
i had the knack
of sewing quickly
and without flaw.
thus it was i prepared
the clothing for that famous
naked king. it was
real clothing; make no mistake
about that.
the thing, you see, was
that Harry (who preferred to be called Harold
but no one would)
had imprisoned the land's greatest wizard
(quite forgetting that warning
about meddling in certain affairs); Harry allowed
him to live, after being given
a spell.
it was actually a good one: but, you see
Harry was quite clearly a fool.
the king had heard about
a suit of lights and had immediately needed
unique and unmistakable clothing.
the spell ensured
that the clothing met
its payment's worth. “why”
the mage said “if you pay gold
then it will be as unique.”
the clever king
paid in his pictures. his kingdom, he'd been assured
by his adoring advisors
would last a thousand years.
unfortunately these paper portraits
were, as we all know
actually quite worthless. so, once
he donned them, the clothes
vanished, and thus
his clothing too was worth nothing.
it was pointed out to him
variously and repeatedly
that he was quite naked
he always replied in terms of the clothes' cost, naturally--
the clothier had claimed his gold,
though
too late to affect the spell.
finally, in autumn of that year,
he “changed his clothes”
and covered his unseemly drooping sags...i must say
we were all quite relieved.
and the next summer
when he went to find his suit
it was not there, even to his
bewildered eyes.
he became quite the fop.
at times, it seemed, though
he pined
for his imaginary suit.
20.incessant variables
the guides, when they returned
(i met them at times, in those
dreams or memories of other lives)
were mostly quite silent.
we'd find supplies replenished, sometimes
though far from any city: once one of them
bound a wound with merely a phrase.
and they would give us odd jewelled phrases
that vanished somehow
when they did. still,
we seemed to learn.
21.of pebbled courses
when the race began,
we had no doubts.
winning, after all, meant freedom.
but then, one night
we found out what freedom meant.
...it's years, now, since
the race's start; we've trod
--or so it seems--
in every land. lately, there's been word
of bailiffs, searching for us
to take us to our promised
true reward. you see, the one who explained
true freedom's meaning put it this way
'only the dead are truly free'
22. pathed dreams
in deep inwardness
we knew our trails: names
though markers
could not change with
the seasons' shift, nor the land's
slow groaning movement.
some spoke of goals and endings: others
maintained the journey was the goal,
and any ending
would be short
of those fancied, promised peaks. somehow,
only continual attempt
could possibly do.
but the white man
solved the problem with his whiskey
(and, of course, those
infected blankets)
we die now, slowly
our words stolen
by these pasty-faced invaders: and
we have forgotten
where those paths, those trails
might any longer lie.
23. salient faces
when the gorgon's troops met us,
we fled (who could blame us?)
to a nearby lake, and submerged:
peering for us
they encountered
their own reflections and thus turned
to stone
and so stand
grotesque narcicissi
forever gazing
at reflections
24. vain reflections
at times we saw
fantastic reflections, beckoning
exploration, and one or another
of us simply had to go.
yet each time (often
near glinting treasure)
we'd find
ourselves wandering within
self-created mazes
25. far reaches
i have not said at all, you know,
what i mean. my traitor tongue
distorts, my voice fails, my mind
wanders. at times it's as if
i have forgotten
common speech, as i
wander. i have been thnking,
though, you know: perhaps i should wear a barrel
rather than clothes.
26.attitudinal sways
it was because
of the danger he represented, that
we killed him
he kept asking questions
we couldn't answer, which
shows lack of respect.
and then he even dared
to ask about Patriotism, and such questions
--for obvious reasons--
are forgidden. you're to bow to Names,
and speak them
if at all
rarely.
so we silenced him.
27. on voyaging through desolate territory
as i lay with my mistress, one day
i spoke another's name in delight's raptures.
i did catch my error, and apologized
and soothed as i could.
she seemed to forget: assuredly,
i did. but then one day
she stood before me, leader
of the rebel forces: is it surprising
she emasculated me, and made me her slave?
i wonder, though, at times
if passion's bonds' absence
has not left me the more free
28.relative distances
my feet blistered, once, on our journey...
i don't think it was one of those
incessant dream-memories. just then,
we were bare-footed, and i alone
had never gone so. i bound
them with rags
and limped along. some
mistook me for a wise man
others
for a beggar.
i was silent, being
unsure in their language: i
walked through their village
and was headed toward
valleysend
when one paused me, and led me
back to her hut.
i stayed there some days: she made
me sandals, and i
went on.
at times wisdom
is quite a fragile blossom.
29.irritating mannerisms
as a pattern, life
was not hard. there was more change, though
than you'd probably think.
when you are
relationships, there's a great deal
of give and take.
eventually, of course, change
conquered and i died--gladly,
actually, even though
many people died.
i became a butterfly, you see
and was overjoyed
to be truth.
30. scheduled partitions
as a typist, i was not happy.
their patterned responses
were like scientists' mazes
constructed for rats or dogs
with one small change:
all
was failure, there was
no perfect way.
as i lay dying, someone told me
the supervisors
were required to be dis-satisfied
with their subordinates.
i died with a scream of rage
and became a curse.
they couldn't find records, screwed
customers right and left: quite surely
they'd be out of business soon.
(i believe the company still
exists, and the curse: they never
noticed the difference)
31.of odes to silence
i am sure i remember
being old, in those mountains--
bent, stooped, scarcely able
to withstand the heights' rigors.
--Though i am not young now,
you must understand
that was many years ago.--
there seems too little connection
between many events: though at times
memory's blurred by drink or drugs
it was not mostly so.
i must say, at times i stand severally
unsure
which are (if all are not)
the dream
32. ablated travails
when we built that pyramid
many of us died. no, not
from particular cruelty
it was that we could hear
the echoed surf's crashing
and our souls had to go
to the sea
33.blunted visages
the villagers accused us
of being sacreligious: when we
protested,
they crucified us to prove it.
our howls of pain,
they said
showed clearly
we were incapable of civilized behavior
that evening, we got down from our crosses
and quickly killed them all. they'd made
us into gods, you see, and we
were new to the role: it's much easier
to destroy than create
34.sealed contracts and painted spaces
you must understand
that it was the journey that was the thing
that stepped voyage that revealed
all we'd thought to know
at best half-illusion: there was no
cinematic progression of stilled moments,
and we knew the lives we'd left
irretrievably lost
soon after we began. that threat
of meaning had just frayed away.
thus it was on our return
that we were viewed with great
suspicion
meaning being fetters,
unshared meanings
were bladed goads: it is thus
they drove us from the village and this
monastery
was established. every once in a while,
they do send us young men.
they're quite appreciated; meat
is often scarce, these days
35.anti-koan
when he was killed for pederasty,
he was relieved. unfortunately,
he was reborn as an abused child.
36.circled summations, gridded distances
when we sought answers
from the wise man's emissaries, they
brought us before him. --where
he had our heads removed, for disturbing
his peace. some answers
are quite unmistakable
37. semantic distortions
the sage said he was looking
for twined passages, as he leaned above
the rain-torrented stream
i suppose he found them. he leaned
too far, and fell in, to meet his death in moments
on the rapids' cruel-edged rocks
38.grave error
i was a gravedigger, once, too
and buried both
pets and men.
it was amazing to me, really, on my single error
how upset that family became
when they found i'd accidentally switched
dog's and master's graves
39.simplified sums
it was easy when we began:
there were no more nights of flashing knives
and cleaving blades, swords truly
smelted into plowshares...
after a year or two
it was too boring, though.
knives dulled, swords gone
we cut staves
and dutifully beat each other
into bloody stupor. tradition
we justified ourselves
must be followed
40.debatable perspectives
yes, that was a forest once.
we improved it. see how well
the concrete drains?
41.general reservations
in samsara once
we sought the sun: we attempted
flight. but the ground
knew nothing of our
mythic visions, and bruised us
so
we beat it soundly with sticks.
42.inescapable conclusions
each year, when the river rose
it somehow surprised them: thus
it was they built
within the flooding river's path.
we attempted to explain;
you could say we felt impelled.
they wouldn't allow us to leave, and when
the water had indeed
came as uncouth visitor
to their homes, they beat us
and then bid us leave.
“really, you know” they said
“we can't have such
negative attitudes around.”
at last report, since
the river again dared over-run its banks
they're seeking ways
to stop the river entirely, though
it furnishes all their water
43.on glyphic mysteries
it was only when we deciphered
time's worn signature
upon the cliffs
that we realized the Way
and within the stone passageways
gathered to celebrate
the random visage.
but then the earth
was torn to move: crushed
within, we finally realized
the meaning of that Name
44.circumstantial interpretations
when the river heard of new courses
it gladly leapt toward them, meeting
sea'sverge
expecting death (perhaps
for its temerity in seeking freedom)
the river instead found itself
part of a greater, mysterious Whole
45.chiascuroed appearances
i was a knight, too, i wandered
in search of a fair maiden
but none i found would do.
finally, in desperation
i took a village beauty
and imprisoned her, and then awaited
a hero's entrance. at least
i could be a villain.
but years passed, and none came; the 'princess'
and i
became friends and then lovers...
i think it was the fifth year
that i married her.
...i suppose i should have foreseen it:
she promptly
had me imprisoned in the dungeon.
it wasn't bad, though
after she allowed a fireplace
and shutters for the windows: and there was always
the conjugal visit bit.
but then one day
she ran out of food for the dragon,
and i was handy. incidentally
i've been looking into
establishing a society
for the preservation
of hors d'ouevres
46.felonious encounters
as an angel, i found no rest
for i was the least, sent
unendingly on one errand
or another.
besides, i was always seeing God,
that insufferable
egotist...my ire oddly grew unnoticed.
so, one day
afire with resentment, prepared with
the proper mystic blade
i killed God.
they cast me out of Heaven, of course:
on the whole it's been a relief. i know
there will be no more infinite passages.
as far as God being dead, i don't know...
it doesn't seem things have changed much.
i suppose they either
found a replacement, or it turned out
He was unnecessary
47.at the gates
the barbarians forced us
to many things. we would not
you understand
have controlled the populace so strictly
had we any choice.
the people simply had
to understand we didn't want
to cut their rations
and restrict their movements. those barbarians
are quite subtle, seeming
ordinary fellows, infiltrating
and causing dissension. they even
inflamed the masses
so they claimed injustice: we the rulers
they noted
--not allowing for our tasks' clear difficulty--
our rations weren't cut at all. why,
they've even lost respect
for rank
and now they say we must leave
having discovered
the barbarians are mercenaries
and in our pay
48.of frivolous sunsets
gathered once we were, grain
for the harvest. we never saw
the reaper, and can only wonder
when we shall be milled, and changed
to another's bread.
i dream of spring
and await doom
49.constrained impressions
within deep forest once
(sky hidden as echoes)
we traveled, wandering, uncertain
of our course
while it lay in that twilight
and then in a sudden clearing
we were shocked
by the brilliance of a sunlit flower
and knew our way again.
50.steeped inconsistencies
the singer's words
were full of wisdom
but our hearing
was all of lies
51.transfoliations
when we heard his message
we knew it was a new day
and we were freed
of all our imprisoning assumptions
of course, later
when the sun set
we forgot all about him
52.careless names
“those who have ears to hear,
let them hear”
which of course why
the king ordered
his subjects' ears removed.
53.fanplay
when the sparrow met
the hawk's god, he died
quicly, in outrage
ah, but when the hawk
met the sparrow's god, he found
himself transformed, and quickly
gathered flocks with his godwords. the problem was,
being a meateater
and having foresworn meat,
he weakened and died when he fell
from his morning flight.
his gathered flocks, having respectfully
and gratefully had him
for their morning meal
went toward
their former roosts.
on the way
each met the hawkgod
and his ferocious troops
determined to convert
them, and their god.
sadly,
they did as poorly
as attempted raptors
as had the hawk at eating seeds
finally, the hawk god's servitors
and the sparrows
got tired of the whole thing
and sacrificed both gods to themselves
54.scintillant visions
the cloud-covered skies
threaten rain
begloom begray the day
55.on scripted recurrence
when we remarked
on the city's silence
it was as if we'd paid them
a great compliment
“you see, that's why
we killed the children. altogether too much
chatter, and laughter, and noise”
56.fools' tales
i was a wiseman once
or perhaps mad
(the again, the two
might be quite the same)
but i was in search of wisdom, so
i studied the wordless babe, and followed
a mongrel dog
slept on porches and begged
for my food
and finally, i was declared
simply the wisest fellow around
(probably because i didn't say anything)
so the king naturally
sent for me, to learn
all my great secrets
i stood before him, shabby
i could not seem, at first
to speak: he ordered
a guard to cut out my tongue
for impertinenece. in my fright
i uttered
that unsayable Word i'd slowly learned
and he died. thus
it was that i became king, for that day
but i heard
the crow's rasping call
and i had to leave
57.scenic balustrades
when we raised the altar to Seeming
the townspeople were aghast.
they needn't have worried, though: after
the priests talked with us a while
we tore down the altar and joined them.
as they said,
it was the same thing
58.visible footprints
when we approached that ancient
monument, we were indeed afraid. it loomed
quite mightily...we concluded, though
that it had once been a woman's
likeness, with something upraised.
then the guide told us of a strange people
who walled themselves inside
imaginary and yet quite real walls
and died within their defenses
insulated
from both enemies and supplies
59.fractal exposures
imprisoned within a high tower once
--a crypt, i think, for all its height--
i was freed by words. and, bereft
of my chains' comforting lent definition
i promptly threw myself from the tower
60.circuitous visibilities
and, in one
monastery, they celebrate day's break
by a naked maiden
beating a gong. (none, i assure you
is allowed to watch)
it was quite a disappointment
to us monks, to learn
there was no naked girl
--at least, once the veiling cover
had been ripped aside
by a horny newcomer.
before the unveiling, though, they said
it was even odds she was there.
61.on constellations of visions
the emphasis that year
was on briefs--
bras and panties
and conceivably of mind (probably
on the part of the advertisers)
and then of course there were the
“hip-hugging jeans”, exposing
lots of juvenile flesh. unfortunately, they'd
mis-timed their campaign
it hit in dead winter
and that being the year
of the flu vaccine shortage, they lost a lot
of kids
but at least they sold
a lot of briefs
62.juvenile declensions
“despair and pride”
she said
“prompt men's most common words”
i think a shadow passed
over our faces: certainly
her expression changed.
“that is, the ones
smart enough to talk”
63.passing, lent perspectives
within the greened spring
we sought our selves' reflections
but then found
our random-seeming acts
had painted but one visage
(a leering idiot's)
after contemplation, we destroyed
that graven image, and made
a search for meaning the gravest possible offense.
64.prospective illusions
and i was the wind once
i walked a god, earth quaking
beneath my metalled feet:
i gloried in destruction
but as i gloried, i weakened
and, at last undone
fell to the bitter land
as gentle rain
65.scented byways
with her swaying stride
whole continents
were born and shaped, she was
uncaringly fertile
and never knew her power
to doubt or guard it
and thus it was
the male gods
stole her glory all away
66.saturnian moons
yes, of course they
taught her to forget
her self
after all, it's
plastic dolls that sell
67.a tribute to ray charles
the blind poet
sat and sang
so many years
at that piano
every musician who's sat there since
has heard his voice
and the knowledge echoed ever after
in their song
-------------
--though admittedly this title doesn't fit with the general tone of this piece (made of a hundred pieces) it seems nonetheless quite fitting.
68.in deep glimmering
when we walked the Path
we thought to measure
reality with truth and then found
all, or none
was Path
69.frontal stages
when she told us her name
we were quite properly abashed
but then
being her adoring public
and seeing she had
no guards about, we proceeded
to strip and photograph
and otherwise
ravish her, expecting of course
a goddess' thanks
but then we saw she
was bleeding, and ran.
it was her fault, of course
our idols were supposed to be
quite impervious to abuse
70.tenebrous glissades
“i am trying to dance
in time godamit, i
got no natural rhythm and don't care
what who has to say
“we'll dance as we want to,
thank you
and then we'll burn your factories down
the ones
“that make plastic figures
that walk like men
“plastic figures like us,
marionetted
by various entangling strings
“no, we don't want your plastic
burgers and irresistible
cars, don't care to run
circular rounds to power some
“supposedly benevolent but imprisoning
machine, i
“no, don't got no rhythm, i can't
march to your tune at all.”
of course, when the brave marchers
finished with their voiced defiance
the owners of
those tangled strings
had them all killed. rebellious puppets
just aren't good entertainment
after all
71.solipsis
'your veiled utterances' i told him
'provide no path,
give no way. uncertain progressions
save no one, names lend no nature
except perhaps to mages'
i wasn't sure he'd heard me
as he walked away.
--i've been in this prison
five years now. and you?
72.pyramidal assumptions
yes, at times we became lost
in that unending torrent of selves
and curved unspoken questions.
but then, we'd never really
been found
73.phenomenal objectives
in one world i lived
--i know it's hard to credit--
they'd decided to build weapons
that could destroy all humans.
(they said “all men” of course,
which wouldn't in a way
be so much of a pity
what with artificial insemination)
eventually, of course
out of boredom or stupidity
they had to try them out.
the weapons worked quite well.
i remember
as i was dying (of course,
the others were too)
all of us congratulating ourselves
on how safe we'd made the world
and were really amazed
when the world quite agreed
74.unfeigned gratitude
when we liberated those foreign
savages (after
all, they didn't even speak our language)
--i'm not quite sure what from
but they assured it was terrible,
something about
their former evil ruler
killing lots of people--
they were totally ungrateful,
even after we explained
patiently and at length
so we lovingly
killed them all
75.caught within
there was no constant
reflection to find
within that faceted stone
and thus there was no constant way
to find
and we struggled
caught within those prisms
time defined by speed
we spent eternal days within
and yet (diminished, it seemed)
upon escaping
we found no time had passed
76.sounded spaces
within summer's furnaced limits
we guessed the mountains' heights and cooliness
during those drought years. we aspired
toward them
yet no matter our momentary treks
they grew no closer
we cursed the heat, the glinting light
and prayed for its cessation
then a monster volcano
as if in answer
dirtied the world's skies
a year ago.
...we pray now for sun
though foreknowing
its harsh imprisoning grasp
----------------------
the 'monster volcano': Krakatoa
77.fractured dreams
the ones who had seen the savior
were quite persuasive: they explained
his apparent absence was just a state of mind
he'd be popping in any second.
one old gentleman declared
he'd been at seat's-edge for years, sure
it would happen any moment.
when pressed, they admitted
they might not actually really
have seen him, he'd died
apparently
some years before.
they said something
about “faith” and being
“chosen”
and going to some vague
future (unseen) reward.
i found out some lives later
that self-flagellation and other
assorted religious delights
were really very addictive , and
--though none of us dared experiment--
gave a good high.
of course, there was some indication
it involved brain damage
78.somatic disturbances
with curved fragrances
and finespun passions
the temple girls came to visit
they were from Parvati's
retinue
and with each stamping step
left Kali's afterimage
-----------------------
dedicated to Roger Zelazny
and Nishant Shah
79. reasoned discourses
those fevered passages of blood
left many traces not least a scarred wisdom which was unfortunately
confined to surviving wars
(in the short run)
and other such men's games
80. sybilled foremembrance
those moments of wisdom we found
were most precious, and entirely
obscured
the dreadful bound passages
of the unsought Word:
a mother, suckling her child, full
of uninflected love, or
a quiet oldsters' embrace (passion
indeed unforgotten, but no longer
paramount)
a child's first-discovered
butterfly: eternity
divided by infinity
becomes a succession of unmouthed moments
81. agitated stillness
give me no more songs! this rush
of fettered moments and confined motions
lends no escape.
give me no more sounded chants
swayed movements
and chance-caught instants' glances
lend me no more slogans
and new-coined names--rather
try something novel: silence.
--but after a moment's experiment, afraid
(thoughts' echoing trace ungainsayable)
the song resumes, amplified
even more
82. of reasoned discourse
they were all very wise, there: they
told us so, at length, before
they allowed us entrance
into their village
it seemed quite unreasonably
dirty: fetid, even.
we accepted their food
with suspicion, and couldn't
bring ourselves to stay
the night. they had to
show us their treasures, before
we left: they were actually
quite wealthy.
i pointed out, as we left
that they could well afford
to have thei village cleaned
or even live within a castle
“oh, no” their leader explained, smiling
“that would display our wealth
and there would be thieves: none
must know”
and, still smiling, he killed us
to protect the secret
and preserve the status quo
83.visible forbearance
and once, within
great vasty woods
we were lifelong lost
and quite content
84.within visible dimunitions
he filled me with his song
each time i heard him
i could not separate
teller and tale--
a funny little guy with big glasses
a rather engaging grin
and at least half a hundred voices
pounding away
at the piano
creating a sounding and
(for the moment anyway)
eternal-seeming melody
...still, the song always
ended
85.of faltering utterance
this comfort you
seek to give me
clogs my veins and freezes
my heart, palsies
my hand. i know naught
of your trailing tales
of semblance, and honors
grimed transformation
to mere words
o, give me
no more comfort
but ending instead
86.sorted summations
her fractured song beguiled me
and perhaps transformed me: certainly
she changed the shapes i saw
and even inflected my line
crystalline images! but within
a flawed stone, so that
now, remembering
i've only fragments
of her song
------------------------
dedicated to Annie Lenox
87.in remembrance of wisdom
we paused in our travels
upon the topmost pitch
of some unnamed mountain
and thought
to see the world, but
our eyes' blurred vision
allowed only flicker shapes, as
of shadows
projected by firelight
upon some cave's uneven wall
88.subliminal images
i don't clearly know
how long
we were lost within those caves...muttered
echoes pursued us, in our blindness:
we stumbled often and fell
searching at first
for treasure (here, we'd been assured
lay a box like Pandora's
but filled only with priceless knowledge)
and then exit...
once escaped (blinking, unaccustomed
now to light) at first we bewailed
the treasure's loss...but then
(having unwillingly surrendered
to silence) realized we'd found it,
after all
89.of dimlit spaces
you have given me
too many flowers, i think: i
am one of the old gods, semi-
retired: i prefer
wine, thought and song
these days
i have no gifts to give you
save one
and you cannot know the giving
for if that gift is ever grasped
it is no more
90.on the meeting of reality and truth
that singer had clearly
been on many travels: his melodies
beguiled us
with visions of foreign lands
and truthful speakers
but then Yama deathgod passed
and the song changed, inflected
by mortality's awareness:
the god seemed pleased, and paused
and gave his greatest gift
at times the true
is not the real
91.light's knowledge of shadow
and yes, these
are circled paths we tread
though neither
time nor circle
masters all. this
is Maya's time, illusion
and those that wake
from that dream
pass
beyond the skull
92.on Names and knowledge
we were often, perhaps mostly
lost, for what we sought
had, could have no name
it was like seeking light
and asking a blind man the way
all unknowing
of our own blindness
the cup cannot contain the stream
--nor, for that matter, could any container;
for once caught, it would
no longer flow and thus be no longer stream
:when we realized we'd lost our names
(they'd after all long been unused)
we began seeking our way home
though knowing the search futile
93.prolonged statements
“and i would tell you
of your course” he'd said
“but it is no worded
way. language
can only approach
“you go to find the Real--
and most will fail”
as we were leaving on the Journey
he added
“failure is a name, you know”
--------------
--dedicated to LT
94.imprisoned utterances
i think it was the unmarked path
that aged us most: half
those turnings were hidden until made
and half those
obscured the entrance
certainly it was fascination
itself, turning
into a cul-de-sac, weighted
with some life's dreams and memories
(the scent of violets
that now evokes
a last aged embrace, though
i am yet young)
had there been some
marked end, though
i think we might have despaired
some journeys are all of steps
95.chanced summations
i cannot seem to say
i tell you
quite what i mean
some neolithic
carver
anticipating fine-edged tools
and gleaming blades
or maybe a medieval painter
imagining computer design
and these thoughts i cannot word
halt and silence me
96.frayed resemblances
she was a goddess then
and walked the Earth
unseen, untouched
like some thought's whispering fringe
and then chose
mortality: she would, she told her peers
understand better
the fragile change between
a blossom's first bloom
and soon-following senescence
97.importunate assents
knowledge is not bound
nor is it truly named: that cup
holds only the torrent's
stilled fragments, words
cannot pause nor paint
that falling crimsoned windfleet leaf
that
sign indicating direction points
all ways at once, with knowledge
'at the mile marker' though
my stride's been changed to insect's, i
cannot give you
knowledge nor wisdom, no
98.straitened circumstances
when
his visage's recollection told us
we were fogbound, we could not
understand, 'til
we'd taken the next few steps
and had entered
what valleydwellers
know as cloud
99.toward split infinitives
maya wakened once
and finding no dream to breathe
was quite discontent
until
she realized
it was a waking dream
100.of circled ends
i think i am not wise,
my knowledge
is fragmentary, incomplete
i know silence well,
these days: perhaps sharpening
a knife
or carving a pipe
i am wordless
and between
each curved swing of blade
i walk worlds
--Glenn
12:14:46 PM 
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